Grass Waltz
by LittleGreenBudgie
Summary: Lyn didn't want to hear about their wounded comrades or the battlefields that still haunted Kent's dreams. Lyn wanted a distraction from the intrigue and chaos of politics and warfare, and if the extravagant ball couldn't provide it, he would. KentLyn


The ballroom exploded with a whirlwind of spinning dancers, chatter and music rising like the howl of a gale. The sound of a hundred separate conversations and four times that many footsteps rose like a dogfight, rolling off the walls and bounding off the ceiling. Between that and the kaleidoscope blur of gaudy formalwear, the quiet halls of Castle Caelin had morphed into a child's fairground dream, right down to the candied fruits and over-the-top decorations.

If Kent had his way, the whole setting would have stayed in the imagination. His usually well-disciplined knights cavorted with the same nobles that they usually traded gossip about over the evening's drinks on a normal day, and much as Kent did his best to discourage their laughter, it helped develop a strong camaraderie between his men. To see even that tossed out the window in favor of foxtrotting alongside the garishly-clad dignitaries and lords that twirled through the room was enough to make him long for the familiarity of the training grounds.

Of course, he couldn't wholly escape the frivolities himself; after all, he stood on the same dance floor, clad in the same expensive dress. He dearly missed the dented plate mail that had carried him so faithfully through his battles, missed its familiar weight at his chest and shoulders. The scarlet tunic and ornate dress armor that etiquette demanded threw him off balance and pinched at his skin. Were it not for his newly-earned position as commander of the Caelin knights, Kent would quite merrily have walked out the door and not looked back.

He couldn't shake the creeping unease that Lord Hausen was making ill use of the Caelin funds. Their country crumbled around them with more than half of their soldiers lying dead in the fields they had been trained to defend. Weeds poked up through farmland that had been left untended after Lundgren's iron conscription of able-bodied men; children came to the castle carrying arrows and swords salvaged from the battlegrounds that were their homes, hoping for some pittance of monetary compensation. A third of their horses still ran wild through the countryside, and looking around, all Kent could see was fine glassware and cream pastries. He knew that the ball would help shape the political scene in the delicate postwar period, but it was challenging to think of long-reaching diplomatic effects in the face of hungry soldiers and broken weaponry.

Kent edged closer to the door. His position prevented him from leaving, but the crowd thinned as he neared the exit, and he hoped to avoid being roped into yet another dance. Tipsy noblewomen could pick out the one reluctant partygoer from a throng of revelers, but they tended to cluster in the center of the dance floor. Wallflowers were generally shrugged off and ignored.

As if to prove his point, a couple danced by with scant feet to spare, forcing him to stumble backwards to avoid being crashed into. A sharp word rose to his lips, but Kent checked his admonishment at the sight of a familiar face.

His old friend Sain grinned a dolphin grin. His footwork was sure and graceful, for all that his dance partner looked like she might blow away if he breathed too hard. Sain's eyes flickered over to Kent, and he arched an eyebrow, giving a shallow nod towards his dance partner in a giddy brag. Kent heard Sain loudly recounting the valor and glory of their campaign for Caelin's freedom as he danced off, basking in the accolades poured over him and the adoration of the noblewoman, who could probably only think of war as a device of a troubadour's ballad.

Well, good for him, Kent thought, nodding his friend off. He had found no heroism in the battles they had fought; he had simply done his duty, worried and caught in a dust devil of shouts and cries and the clash of weapons, arrows feathering the frothing, pain-maddened soldiers, horses whinnying at flies and spilled blood and the rising clarity of a battle-hymn. He fought not for himself, or even for his country, at least in the abstract sense of patriotism that classically represented the knighthood. He fought for his country in the form of a girl with eyes like a king's resolve and swordplay like ribbons of wind through the plains grass.

Not for the first time that night, he wondered where Lady Lyndis had gotten off to. She would usually make a dozen jokes about these over-the-top events, for her manners were still rough around the edges; she would not hold back in her critique unless the recipient stood right before her, and even then she held true to her principles and honesty. This time, though, he found himself bereft of someone to critique the lavish spending with while everyone else strutted and preened like pompous peacocks. Lyn had not even said a word to him, which was understandable, since he hadn't seen her since the ball kicked off. By all appearances, she wasn't even there at all.

Logic stated that was ridiculous. If he, a mere knight, needed to attend, then of course the marquess's granddaughter must as well. Knowing Lyn, she had taken the first chance to cut loose and had run off. The plains of Sacae were wild, mercurial places, and she embodied her homeland in the best kind of way. Lyn would not stand to be trussed up in a corset and frilly dress, would not stand to be cooped up and paraded out and gawked at by nobles that thought Sacaens to be little better than wolves.

Kent silently berated himself for daydreaming. Protocol demanded that he be polite, well-mannered, and a perfect representative of the knights of Caelin. There was no room for vacant woolgathering. In equal measure, had he been paying attention, he might have been able to pretend he hadn't seen the girl prancing towards him before she was too close for him to escape.

She shyly batted her eyelashes and giggled. Her dress swished behind her: rose-petal pink, captured in silk and lace in the latest style. The girl was blond-haired and dark-eyed (also the latest style, he wryly thought) but Kent barely noticed the dress or its wearer. He saw her only as another faceless court lady. She certainly wore the same bland look of one who knew nothing beyond manners and dancing—how far from the sharp wit and vivacious energy of Lady Lyndis! Kent doubted this girl could sit a horse or hold a weapon. The white silk gloves on her hands clearly covered soft, uncalloused palms that had never seen a minute's work.

Protocol required that he dance with this woman, though, whether he wanted to or not. He waltzed through a song before mumbling an excuse and slipping away, leaving her smiling vapidly after him. Kent barely noticed, just as he had barely noticed the flirtatious stares of the other court ladies here or the commoners back in town. Before, he had thrown himself wholly into his training, intent on proving himself as a knight. Sain took all the women anyway; he was the funny one, the knight with wit and pure charm. Kent was always stiff, too-serious, and never knew what to say**, **although he didn't much mind. Those girls were honey and cream and poetry, a poor comparison to fire and talons and tenacity, a poor comparison to Lyndis.

He retreated back to a table laden with food and drink. Kent poured himself a glass of champagne—more as an excuse for why he could not dance then for the pleasure of the drink—and returned to his spot by the door. He sipped at the sweet alcohol and leaned against the wall.

A crash sounded, followed by the telltale tinkling of glass. Heads turned to look over by the table, but the perpetrator fled with a rabbit's quickness. Kent stared with the rest of them, praying that it had been a noble's mistake and not anyone from Caelin.

"How goes the evening?" Wil questioned, close enough that Kent could feel his breath on his neck. Kent slowly turned, dreading what he would see. Champagne stained the toes of Wil's boots, and a few bits of shattered glass adorned the hem of his loose pants like a harlequin's sequins.

"You're not supposed to be here," Kent said. "You weren't invited, and it will reflect poorly on Caelin if anyone finds out. And dropping the champagne? I thought we were making progress with court lessons!"

"No one will find out," Wil assured with a grin. He wore a plain tunic of a garish canary yellow that seemed intended for someone a few inches taller than he, as evident in the fact that the pant legs swallowed most of his familiar, well-worn boots. Polished and oiled though they were, his traveling footwear did not compare to the calfskin of the nobles.

"Where did you get that outfit?" Kent asked.

"Sir Geoffrey," he admitted sheepishly. "But he lent it to me, honest!"

Wil stood there for a minute, the picture of innocence, until Kent finally said, "I should punish you, but seeing as you're already here, there's no use in sending you home."

"I got it," Wil assured with a grin. "I was never here, you never saw me, and if anyone asks me, I'm not from here." He saluted in good humor, turned on his heel, and started to walk off.

Kent caught him by the shoulder. "Don't think you're entirely off the hook. You were not supposed to be here. A soldier who does not obey orders—"

"—doesn't belong on the battlefield. I know, I know," he sighed. "You've told us a thousand times."

"I'll say it a thousand more if I think it will help!"

Wil groaned and rolled his eyes. "Well, then again, Captain, I was never ordered _not_ to come. No one ever said 'Wil, you are not allowed to attend the ball', because I'd remember that. So, I'm not really disobeying orders, am I? I just wanted to have some fun."

That logic was just the sort of thing that caused dangerous mistakes in battle. A soldier needed to obey both the letter and the spirit of the rules, whether in combat or in court. Kent made a mental note to mention that during his next training regimen, but for the time being, Wil hadn't done any real harm.

"Fine, then," he said at last.

"Thanks a ton! And who knows? Maybe you can dance with Lyn—oops, I mean Lady Lyndis—before the night is out!" he added merrily, before wading back into the flock of dancers.

His suggestion soured Kent's mood in an instant. Lyn wouldn't wish to dance. After all of these other nobles asking her, she wouldn't want another one, and if she did, she'd surely much rather dance with someone else; in comparison to him, how handsome were some of the lords, bedecked in their finery, brandishing charm and style with more finesse than the best fencer! He thought of Lord Eliwood, with his dashing smile, of how taken Lyn had been with him. He was a proper nobleman, like she was. Lady Lyndis. _Lady_. Heir to the Caelin throne and the reason that he, a farm boy turned knight, was present at a nobles' ball.

Kent suddenly had to get out of the ballroom. Dancers were everywhere, pressing in far too close to him, choking him. The heat seared his armor to his flesh like dragonfire, pressing down his throat and drawing the oxygen from his lungs. The solid presence of the wall against his back, which had previously seemed a shield from the dancers, no longer was a comfort—in fact, it only enhanced the claustrophobia creeping on him. Costumes and colors blended and blurred together like wet paint touched by eager fingers, and flashes of light from the torches reflected off of everything and struck him in the eyes like needles. All of the small noises that he noticed before grew louder, louder, and he could hear his blood pounding in his ears.

He dropped his drink, only realizing it at the tinkling of broken glass, and staggered for the door. Kent fumbled with the doorknob before throwing it open and rushing out, tripping over his own feet. Heads turned, and shame burned in his cheeks, but he didn't stop to explain. He ran through the halls until he couldn't hear the blood pounding in his ears, when he could no longer catch even a snatch of the ball's terrific din. The knight wiped his sweat-soaked bangs out of his eyes and breathed heavily in an effort to regain control of himself.

_Stupid,_ he thought with a sigh. _Stupid. What happened to manners? What happened to protocol? What happened to being a paragon of chivalry?_

The fresh air of the gardens that Lord Hausen loved so much met his nose. That was just what he needed, Kent decided. A walk in the cool night air would soothe the beginnings of the headache he could feel developing, and it would dispel the last vestiges of dizziness that gripped him. He set off at a brisk pace, basking in the light of the nearly full moon as he wandered the winding paths through the gardens.

He had never really gone on solitary walks before, viewing them as a frivolous waste of time. Kent was startled to find that he liked it. He briefly contemplating taking off his dress armor, but he dismissed the thought. It took long enough to get on, and he might see someone else besides. The stars, which shone brightly that night, although he could not find any constellations that he recognized—astronomy hadn't been something he had studied in the meager education his mother had given him, and it was not part of a knight's training either. Still, there was the humbling serenity gained from the thought that he was so very small compared to the powers of the cosmos around him.

"Kent?" greeted an oh-so-familiar voice.

"Milady!" he replied, hand snapping up in a crisp salute.

Lyn sat in the middle of one of the clearings of the gardens, the same section he'd thoughtlessly wandered into. A bench rested near a hedge wall for the convenience of anyone who wanted to enjoy the sights, but Lyn had neglected the stiff, manmade thing in favor of lying on her back in the cool grass. Her dress—blue, silk, and cut in the most fashionable way—already sported grass stains along the back, and stray dirt clung to the skirt.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked. "Did Grandfather send you to bring me back?"

"No. I needed some fresh air. I should have known you'd be out here."

"I miss the sky. This whole thing with living indoors all the time, seeing stone walls all around and not feeling the breeze on your face or the sun on your hair…how can you stand it, Kent? These parties and lessons and rules, always rules! If I pick up the wrong spoon out of twenty to eat soup with, it's dishonor on the Caelin name!" she complained, flopping back onto the grass. He wordlessly sat beside her.

"I know the feeling," he sighed. "It seems the point of diplomacy has been lost among so many courtesies that you cannot speak your mind to anyone."

She smiled tightly. "Maybe I shouldn't have come back. When I was in Sacae, where was all of this? Lundgren starting poisoning my grandfather because I was a threat, didn't he? And all those men—your general, your friends—were hurt because I had to come back, right? Think of all the trouble that quest had caused! And worst of all," she added as his eyes widened, "I'm stuck in this _dress_!"

Kent's expression darkened. The little joke she tacked onto the end wasn't enough to lighten her tone. Lord Hausen still spent most of his time sitting down, his body wasted and weakened from poison that had not fully relinquished its grip. Blame was etched into every line on Lyn's too-serious face, and her nails dug into her palms.

It wasn't Kent's place to admonish her. Instead, he quietly said, "Strange. This ball is supposed to be for your sake, yet you appear to be having about as much fun as I am."

"Why must politics factor into everything? Apparently, if I want to thank Eliwood for his assistance, I must also curtsy, dance, and spend half the night covering trite small talk that neither of us cares about. And if I choose to dance with someone who is _not_ a lord? What a concept!"

"Do you so choose, milady?" he asked. Kent gritted his teeth and inwardly cursed. One moment of companionability, and he threw it to the dogs in a bungled attempt to catch her attention.

Lyn wryly smiled.

"It wouldn't matter if I did. I don't know hardly any of these Lycian dances."

"Well…"

He hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip and looking at her. A voice in his head that sounded surprisingly like Sain screamed to just ask her to dance already.

"The waltz is easy enough," he said. "It would not be proper for me to try, though—"

"Then why bring it up at all?" she challenged. "Kent, I know how dearly you care about the social hierarchy, but how much did that matter when we fought together?"

Kent could think of a dozen arguments. The chain of command held a band of warriors together; Mark stood at the top, giving orders that none of them contradicted, and Lyn was a notch below him, consulted on all major decisions. The people who broke that chain upset the group's dynamic and could very easily end with one of them lying dead.

He didn't speak a word of that, however. Lyn didn't want to hear about their wounded comrades or the battlefields that still haunted Kent's dreams. Lyn wanted a distraction from the intrigue and chaos of politics and warfare, and she counted on him to provide it. It was his duty

"…I would be honored to teach you, milady," he said as if there had ever been doubt that he would cede to her wishes.

He helped her to her feet, his heart pounding in his chest at holding her hand for that second—he was worried he might drop her, that was all!

"Hold my hand and put your other on my shoulder," he instructed. She complied without a word. Awkwardly, he set his free hand on her waist, ignoring the way his heart flipped.

"It's not hard. One two three, one two three, one two three, one two three. That's the basic form, now…"

She stepped a little out of time to his slow movements, being dragged along like a flag in the wind before she got the hang of the basic steps, but soon the two were twirling and dancing at her own breakneck pace. Lyn took dance much the same as she took swordfighting: a constant battle to match her opponent. Her eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch in intense focus, with a blazing light to them that declared this a full-on duel. Kent dared to smile, a warm, relaxed thing that felt like a far contrast to the formality of his dress armor. She grinned back.

"Now I'll show you how to _really_ dance," she said with a smirk, and before Kent could ask what she meant, Lyn added a dozen new steps to it-ones he'd never seen or even heard of before. There was still the frail framework of the waltz, as delicate as a leaf-skeleton and as substantial as the faint breeze that tousled his hair. Beyond that, though, he couldn't recognize a thing. Her movements were swift and powerful, yet held a willowy grace as she swayed gently in time with the steps, pulling apart to clap every now and then. It was all reminiscent of something lost long ago.

"What is this?" asked Kent breathlessly.

"The Lorca Grass Dance. It always accompanied parties at home," Lyn replied as she twirled into another series of claps. He was half-sure that the twirling wasn't supposed to be in the original, but Kent found himself liking it, as he liked most everything Lyn did. He mentally explained it off as enjoying the change from that stuffy ballroom, and since he knew Lyn, of course it would be far better than dancing with some girl he didn't know at all.

Kent was a quick study, and he took the dance as seriously as she did. The thought of _I'm dancing with Lady Lyndis _kept playing over and over in his mind. _Somehow, I know I'm overstepping my bounds here,_ he thought, but Kent couldn't bring himself to voice it, not when she was having fun.

Lyn spun to a halt, grinning, as the last bit of the dance ended. They didn't have music to keep time to, but Lyn seemed to keep time to nature itself, measuring meter and beat in the wind and rustle of the plants.

"I think we created a dance," she said.

"The Lycian Grass Waltz," Kent agreed. "Or should that be the Lorca Grass Waltz?"

"Lycian. We're not in Sacae anymore," Lyn added wistfully. Her brave expression failed to hide the homesick part of her that still longed for waves of wheat-colored grass and bright, clear skies seen from the back of a broad-faced horse.

"I know. Perhaps sometime soon we could journey there? I'm sure your grandfather would love to go with you," he offered tentatively.

"I would like that," Lyn admitted. "For now, though, I need to stay here. I have so much to learn if I'm really going to be a proper lady. It's only right that I stay."

The knight tentatively raised a hand and, with far more hesitation than he had shown while dancing, laid it on her shoulder.

"When you do go, please don't forget me."

Lyn looked surprised, so Kent hastened to add, "The plains are dangerous, right? I would not want milady to—"

"Do you think I can't handle myself, Kent?" she asked coolly.

"Of course I don't think that!" he stammered, flustered, as he tried to say a dozen things at once. Why, oh why, did his composure always break around her? "It's just—you mentioned bandits using poison and even the best warrior could get hurt. I'd prefer to help, too, and—forgive my impertinence—I enjoy spending time with you—"

He cut himself off before he could blurt out anything else. Lyn's face lit with realization, mouth opening to form a silent 'oh'. Kent's face burned.

"Kent, you could've just said that from the start instead of getting me mad!"

"I'm sorry," he murmured automatically, noticing how Lyn's smile widened at his response. They both looked at each other for a moment before Kent chuckled, running his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.

"Lady Lyndis!" a voice called, the moment shattering as surely as Wil's champagne glass had.

She scowled, hunching her shoulders and casting an exasperated look at Kent.

"Chancellor Reissmann," she whispered. "Darn. He's found that I'm missing…"

"Milady…" he murmured helplessly, at a loss. He was unsure quite what to say or do. Duty prompted that he tell the chancellor that they were here, yet Lyn clearly didn't want to leave, and he couldn't just betray her like that! Kent shifted his weight anxiously.

"I hate this, I really do," Lyn muttered. "Kent…I don't want to be trapped in that ballroom, I don't want to go back in there and dance with a dozen people I've never met, and I don't want to leave you."

"I don't either," he murmured. "Maybe…Maybe we could stay out here and dance?" The proposal was hesitant at best—Kent still had the squirming, guilty feeling that he was doing something horrifically wrong—yet he found the words tumbling out of his mouth anyway.

"I would in a second, Kent, but I couldn't possibly pull you away from this. You said it was your duty to stay, right? And I know how you care about that," she sighed.

"It is my duty to attend milady, and you want to stay here. Besides…" Kent trailed off, thinking of what Wil had used as his excuse. "No one ever said 'Kent, you aren't allowed to hide out in the gardens and dodge Chancellor Reissmann', did they? I'm not technically breaking orders…"

"You're the best, Kent, I mean it," Lyn whispered with a grin before ducking under the bench. She then shot him a look that questioned why he was still standing there and hadn't joined her.

"If he comes, I'll claim I haven't seen you," Kent explained.

"No," Lyn said forcefully, shamelessly taking hold of his hand and pulling him under the bench with her. "We're in this together, right?"

"Right," he breathed, wide-eyed and awestruck.

Reissmann stepped into the clearing—_their_ clearing—and glanced around before sighing, grumbling something about willful children, and hurrying down the next path.

"You know," Lyn remarked as the chancellor's footsteps faded, "hiding out here under a bench is a lot more fun than being stuck in the ball, isn't it?"

"Most certainly," Kent replied.

He couldn't help but chuckle. Yes…even though her elbow poked him in the ribs, his dress tunic itched, and he curled himself in a space far too small for a man of his size, it was far more fun sitting outside than it was amidst the ball.

Kent suddenly realized the real source of his troubles; it _wasn't_ that he loathed the music and people and dancing, because even with all that, a ball was certainly a far more charming thing than ducking authority figures. It wasn't the event at all. It was that he'd rather be _anywhere_ with her than in there without.

Lyn looked at him and grinned. "I promise you that when I get in trouble for this, I won't mention that you were involved at all."

"We're in this together," Kent said softly, and he placed his hand on hers. "May I have this dance?"


End file.
